


very late at night, and in the morning light

by marquis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, there is an astonishing lack of liam/harry in this world.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:31:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marquis/pseuds/marquis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If there’s one thing I’ve learned,” Liam told him, slowly, emphatically, “it’s that religion isn’t about praying or going to church. It’s about faith. And you don’t have to go to church to learn about that.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	very late at night, and in the morning light

The lightning had been flashing and the rain had been pouring. There was nowhere else for him to go, not really; there was nothing else he could have done. And he felt bad, really, walking in there how he was. He felt horrible for trekking his dirt and mud through the clean, wooden halls and for sniffling and coughing in the peaceful quiet. He felt wretched for bringing the biting cold of the outdoors with him into the warm, candlelit halls and letting the whispers of a breeze comb over his shoulders and the flames until both were shivering heavily.

But he had nowhere else he could go. He had nothing else he could do.

That was what he kept telling himself, walking down the rows of pews to the front, to the warmth and comfort of the center candelabra. He was a drowning rat from the streets, inked and thin and dangerous. Where else could he go? The storm outside was too horrible. It was too dangerous. He couldn’t sleep out there tonight, lest he risk some kind of sickness. Hypothermia, mitochondria, he didn’t know; he’d never paid much attention in school.

He sneezed again, shaking from the force of it. A few soaked strands of hair fell limp into his eyes, dripping freezing rainwater down his forehead. It seemed too much to stand; his knees were knocking together, feet stumbling along clumsily.

It was only for a little while, anyway. Just until the storm was finished. Then he would be gone, and no one would ever have to know. No one would have to find the Goldilocks that had trailed in mud, had slept in a pew that was too thin and too long and not at all just right.

Another sneeze, and then another, both louder than the previous two. He was probably sick already. After the third sneeze, it occurred to him that he might wake someone up. It was just in time for the realization to arrive, of course; it’s not as though he’d tried to cover up any of the noise he’d made previously, and now there was bound to be someone awake, aware of his presence.

“God bless you,” came a voice from beside him, after yet another sneeze. Laughter followed when he jumped, barely even noticeable from his constant shudders and shakes.

He turned to find a boy, standing just inside a door that he hadn’t noticed before at the end of the row of pews. “Thank you,” he muttered, if only to be polite. If it had been up to him, he wouldn’t have said anything at all; he’d be sleeping, anonymous and unknown and incapable of dealing with the situation at hand. Oh, how he wished he could _sleep_.

The boy stepped forward, not looking at all disturbed or troubled by the young stranger hiding in what might presumably be his home. “What’s your name, then?” he prodded, when he was only a few steps away.

“Harry.”

“I’m Liam,” the boy said, taking a seat on the front pew and gesturing for Harry to join him. Harry did, if only to be polite. It wasn’t as though he was going to be allowed to stay for long, anyway; he may as well take what hospitality was offered to him. “Did you need something?”

Harry shook his head and then brushed his watery fringe from his face; it fell right back into place. “I just needed a roof over my head. I’ll be gone as soon as the storm’s over. Sooner, if you’d like.”

“No, it’s fine.” Liam shrugged. “My da’s in charge around here, and he wouldn’t kick you out, providing that you’re not some unrepentant sinner,” he explained, and the twist of his mouth suggested something that Harry was all too familiar with, “and I’m supposed to follow his example. Between you and me, though, it doesn’t matter much what you practice or who you are; it’s not like there isn’t plenty of room for you to spend the night in here or anything.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Harry questioned. “I could rob you, or something.”

Liam snorted. “Or something,” he agreed, standing up. “Well, a roof isn’t going to save you from a cold if you sit under it dripping wet. Come on; we’ll get you something dry to wear.”

Harry obediently stood and followed Liam out the door that he’d come in through, off to the side and further from the harsh outside. They made their way down dark, snug corridors, hidden in the walls of the common hallways that everyone else used. They made their way past room after room, most of them with their doors open and empty beds inside. Three doors were shut; Liam pushed one of them open and let Harry inside.

The room was pretty boring, as rooms go. It looked like every other one they’d passed, with plain white bedclothes and a plain pillow and a tiny wardrobe in the corner. It was to the wardrobe that Liam went, pulling out joggers and a jumper. He tossed these to Harry and then it seemed as if he were a little lost, as if he might not have thought this through. There didn’t seem to be a bathroom attached to his room.

Harry could guess the problem and why Liam was uncomfortable, but he didn’t give it time to turn into words. He stripped out of his dripping jeans and the ratty t-shirt he wore, slipping into the nice warmth and comfort of the clothes he held. They smelled of fabric softener and something else, a little more boyish, a little more like skin. Harry tried not to think about that quite as much.

“Thank you,” he said, for the second time that night. There was the name of some private school on the front of the jumper, something about track and cross country. He couldn’t help imagining what it might have been like, going to a school like that and having friends and being good at something. “Look at me, all dressed up like a priest’s son. My mum would have been proud.” And it wasn’t exactly something that he wanted to say, not something he’d thought through, but he couldn’t help it; he was being honest, and it was a little bit painful, but he wasn’t about to take it back.

“She wanted you to be religious, then?” Liam asked, sitting down on his bed. Harry ignored the way his eyes fought to focus, occasionally wandered just a little bit.

Harry looked at the wall behind Liam’s head to avoid watching his face fall. “I don’t see much a point in it. Praying never kept her from getting cancer. Confessions sure as hell didn’t save her once she got it.”

There was a long, heavy silence. Harry tried to look anywhere but Liam’s face, didn’t want to see the horrible pity that would undoubtedly be there. Eventually, though, it was too hard; he had to know what the other boy was thinking. And when he met Liam’s eyes, he thought he might have seen understanding.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned,” Liam told him, slowly, emphatically, “it’s that religion isn’t about praying or going to church. It’s about faith. And you don’t have to go to church to learn about that.”

Harry was just a little bit shocked, stunned into momentary silence. Liam didn’t seem fazed at all, watching with those big brown eyes like some kind of puppy, faithful and naïve and everything Harry wasn’t, could never be.

“Would faith have saved her, then?” he asked, words quieter and voice far more unsteady than he had meant for them to be. “Would _faith_ have saved my mother when religion couldn’t?”

Liam shook his head. “No. But it might have saved you.”

Something changed, then. Neither of them could have named what it was or identified it clearly, but it was there, a definite shift in the air. It was charged now in a way that it hadn’t been before, and Harry thought that Liam felt it, too. He thought that Liam might have felt the electricity in his toes, running through his fingertips, light and barely there but still enough to make him feel _something_.

Just in case, he asked. “Do you feel that?”

Liam grabbed Harry and pulled him onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and a web of blankets. He wore an expression that read pretty clearly what he felt, _faith_ , and it was near intoxicating. Harry kissed the look off his face, pressing their lips together in a way that made the electricity inside match the lightning and thunder overhead.

And as it turned out, Liam was right, in a way. Harry didn’t need religion to find heaven in the curve of Liam’s spine. He didn’t need prayer to see the world in the tattoos under Liam’s skin, just as dark and tainted as his own and hidden from everyone else by long sleeves and respectable clothes. He didn’t need to confess his sins to love the taste of Liam on his tongue, to feel power in the way that his fingers made Liam shiver. He didn’t need a deity to find love and acceptance unconditionally at the mercy of Liam’s mouth, to find his place in the world in the webbing between Liam’s fingers.

He had needed to come to church, maybe, but he hadn’t needed anything but faith in what he himself could see and feel, in what he knew in the world around him.

And when he made his way out of the room and down the hall later, when Liam slept peacefully in the bed and the rain had nearly stopped, he thought he might know what it was like to be a god, anyway. He thought he might know what it was like to watch something so beautiful without being able to intervene as much as he wanted. When he closed the front door and came to terms with never coming around again, he thought he might know what it was like to take something away from someone, to steal a life and faith and love, without the power to prevent the tragedy that was bound to follow.

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually kind of ridiculously personal for me. And I feel like I haven't done the real issue justice here, but I've also got more emotion invested in this than is probably healthy and I should probably stop writing it now before it starts to affect me negatively. Any feedback is much appreciated, and you all should be pretty happy to know that I'll be posting a majority of my fic on here now that I'm back to writing again. Sorry for the delay; I hope this makes up for it at least a little bit.  
> (Title for this piece was stolen from "Nobody Knows Me at All" by The Weepies.)


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